


ABCs & 123s: A Lovers Dictionary

by d0g-bless (d0gbless)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baby Daddy is Some Rando Who Doesn't Matter, F/M, Kid Fic, Not Beta Read, Preschool Teacher Shiro, Single Mom Pidge, Single Parent AU, Single Parents, Tropey as hell, Unplanned Pregnancy, We Die Like Men, lovers dictionary, preschool teacher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d0gbless/pseuds/d0g-bless
Summary: Pidge has sworn off relationships for good. Her last one ended with an unplanned pregnancy, something she never thought she'd want.Four years later, she has two jobs that keep her occupied: being a single mom to her three-year-old and working as a successful freelance programmer. There's no room for anything, or rather, anyone else in her life. It's been her and her baby girl, a formula for success.But when she meets her daughter's preschool teacher, Takashi Shirogane, Pidge begins to find it much more difficult to stick to her no-relationship vow.
Relationships: Pidge | Katie Holt/Shiro
Comments: 27
Kudos: 53





	1. A is for Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sylenis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylenis/gifts).



> Sylenis and I started gushing over single parent AUs and how great they are, and I realized that somehow I haven't written a shidge single parent AU. So, uh, clearly I have to change that, and I'm here to do just that!
> 
> Also, you need to read their kidge single parent AU, [Love in an Elevator](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151904/chapters/66308546). I am obsessed with it and am looking forward to future updates!

**_alone_ **

_adjective_

_/ə-ˈlōn/_

_separated from others **:** isolated_

* * *

**May 10, 2022**

Pidge stares blankly at the plastic strip in front of her. _Positive._

She had assumed that she would have felt seeing that positive test result would have felt like a slap in the face. Something that would ruin her life. A tragedy.

Now, as she's sitting on the toilet, pants and underwear gathered at her ankles, _pregnant_ , she can't bring herself to feel that way about it. It's no blessing, that's for sure. But it's not a curse and it's not unwelcome, either. It's a surprise, at the very least.

She can't really blame herself for this. She's been on the pill and maybe should've been more insistent that her partner wear a condom, but he rags about how uncomfortable it is, so fine, he can go ahead and stick it in free-bird or whatever.

She flinches at the knock at the door. "Katie, I need to shower!"

"One second." She pulls her bottoms up, washes her hands, sets the pregnancy test on the counter, and opens the door.

Her partner (whose name she has sworn to secrecy, as he doesn't matter) sees the test. "You've got to be kidding me," he says. "You're killing me, Katie. You are going to get rid of it, right?" This isn't a question — it's a command, and one Pidge refuses to respond to directly.

"I haven't decided yet," she declares, fully aware she's made up her mind.

He's been with her for a couple years and sees right through her. "Oh, so you're going to ruin my life."

"Oh no." She laughs bitterly. "I'm not the one who refuses to wear condoms. This is not my fault."

"But you're on the pill!" he splutters. "This shouldn't have happened."

"Which is more effective _with_ condoms," Pidge says, quieter now. "And it's happening."

He-who-will-not-be-named swears under his breath and snarls, "Get out."

"No." Pidge stands tall and firm — mostly firm, she's not very tall. "I pay for your rent. My name's on the lease. _You_ get out."

He blinks in disbelief. "Are you serious? I mean, really, Katie, are you really going to raise a child all by yourself?"

She hesitates for a brief moment, because it is a fair question. She hasn't figured out the logistics... yet. But she knows that she wants their ( _her_ ) child. But raising it alone... No, she can't start questioning herself now. She's committed herself to this. "If you aren't going to stick around, then, yeah, I guess I'll have to."

He shoots her a scathing look tinged with pity before slamming the bathroom door behind him. Though the sounds are muffled from the barrier of the door, Pidge can hear him ripping cabinets and dressers open and throwing around their contents into bags. She waits in the bathroom until she hears the apartment door slam.

When she reenters her apartment, all of his belongings are gone.

Pidge makes her way to her queen-sized bed and flops down on it, presses a hand to her flat belly that seems different even though it's not.

Even though her ex thinks she's alone, she knows she's not. She's far from it, in fact.

She has her thoughts, the knowledge that in several months, it'll be her and her child here, doing just fine on their own.

* * *

Shiro wakes up to find himself sitting in a pile of rubble and sand. It takes him a few seconds, more likely minutes, to fully realize the gravity of the situation. The rubble is what's left of his plane, which must have been shot down by an enemy fighter.

By all accounts, he should be dead. Maybe he is dead. But as far as Shiro knows, the dead don't feel excruciating pain. It shoots up his right arm, which doesn't make sense because he can't move it.

He shouldn't be able to walk, either, but he can. Each step feels like it brings him closer to death's door, but the closest he gets is to a small town, where people he's never met or spoken to and doesn't even know if he can, band together to help him. He leans against someone for support, more than he probably needs. With each labored step, Shiro feels lighter and less like himself. His vision blurs and swirls. Someone says something and Shiro doesn't understand what they're saying.

"Thank you," he manages. He doesn't think it comes out right.

And then he blacks out.

When Shiro wakes up, he's in a place with bright lights, an overwhelming smell of sanitizer and cleaning products — a hospital? He tries to move his right arm again but he can't.

It's gone, cut off right below the shoulder, a hideous stump of tissue and scars.

He looks to his left — okay, good, still there. He tries to wiggle his toes. He can't. He struggles to sit up, to see what's going on, wondering if that's been removed as well.

It hasn't. It's held up in a cast. Just broken. Badly broken, probably.

He leans back into the hospital bed with a wince. The realization hits him and hits him hard. Through a choked sob, Shiro, alone, realizes he will never, ever be allowed to fly again.


	2. B is for Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'm updating Fridays, so please forgive this one for being a day late. I have relatives visiting in town and didn't have a moment to post yesterday.
> 
> Without further ado, here's Chapter 2!

**_birth_ **

_noun,_

_/ˈbərth/_

_1\. the emergence of a new individual from the body of its parent;_

_2\. beginning, start_

* * *

**February 1, 2023**

At forty-one weeks and three days (not that Pidge has been counting the days, except she definitely has been) pregnant, Pidge is losing her goddamn mind. Ever since she passed her due date, Pidge has tried just about every at-home labor induction strategy in the book, from spicy foods to castor oil, with the exception of sex.

She's giving her oversized exercise-turned-temporary birthing ball another attempt. She feels ridiculous as she bounces as gently as a very impatient week-and-a-half overdue person can, which probably isn't all that gentle. The baby doesn't protest with a barrage of kicks at least; Pidge guesses she must find this exercise soothing or something.

"I am going to kill myself," Pidge informs her brother, "if she doesn't show up by tomorrow. No, make it in the next two hours." Pidge doesn't know if the baby is really a _she_ , but Pidge prefers it over... well, _it_.

"So, if you end up doing that, does that mean I get your Sega Dreamcast?" Matt asks, only half in jest.

Colleen tugs on her son's ponytail. "Matthew Holt, that's not funny."

"Nah, it's a little bit funny," Pidge says. "And sure, but that's only if I kill myself within the next two hours. If I'm still here, it's mine."

Colleen rolls her eyes at her children's antics and sighs. Pidge is used to her mother's disapproval by now. Colleen wasn't exactly thrilled when Pidge first broke the news. She'd go on and on about how hard raising children is even when both parents are involved — never mind the fact that Pidge is not carrying multiples, thank god — tell Pidge she'd have to be more careful with her finances, and on one occasion, went so far as to email her a list of adoption agencies.

That last one had hurt and it had taken a lot of coaxing on her father's end to get Pidge to speak to her mother again. But now that she's entering the final stretch, Pidge is glad her mom is here — even though her asking Pidge when her last contraction was is starting to get old.

And speaking of contractions, one hits Pidge hard enough she has to stop bouncing. She grits her teeth and breathes through it the way she was taught in her online birthing class, with a little guidance from her mother. "Hey, Sam, she's having another contraction," Colleen shouts. "Start timing!"

Sam whips out his phone and starts its stopwatch function. "Forty seconds long. Last one was fifteen minutes ago and it lasted twenty-five seconds."

"A new record," Pidge mutters as she rubs her belly. "That one _hurt_. Maybe we should go to the hospital."

Colleen shakes her head. "No, they're not going to let you in quite yet. We'll drive you there when you're about five minutes between each contractions, which should get longer and more intense."

"I've met two-thirds of the criteria so far," Pidge snaps. She shifts her position because nothing is comfortable anymore, but she can't bring herself to give up on trying. "I'm basically a week and a half overdue, maybe they could induce me now."

"Katie, that's not—"

Sensing a fight nearing on the horizon, Sam butts in. " _So_ , what should I order for dinner? Anything special? A final pre-parenthood meal?"

"Jesus, Dad, you're making it sound like a death row inmate's last supper. Hm, I want spicy peanut pad thai."

"Sweetie, are you _sure_ you don't want something lighter?" Colleen suggests. "Trust me, the last thing you want is an upset stomach on top of labor pains."

Sam wraps an arm around his wife's waist and murmurs into her ear, "Colleen, dear, Katie wants pad thai, so that's what we're getting."

"Fine," Colleen huffs. "Just make sure wherever you order from delivers here."

Pidge flashes her dad a grateful smile. "There's a place right around the corner."

Without looking up from his phone, Matt pulls up the address and menu. He takes everyone's orders and submits it. "Hm, they'll be here in about two hours. Must be busy today." Matt pauses to smirk at his little sister. "Think you can make it that long without killing yourself?"

"With pad thai on the way? I think I can handle that." She begins bouncing again and immediately stops not long after she started when yet another contraction rips through her.

"Sixty seconds, seven minutes from the last," Sam reports. "Colleen, they're getting pretty close now. What do you think?"

"I think pad thai is not going to be on the menu tonight." She turns to Matt. "Grab your sister's birthing bag. We're going to the hospital."

* * *

Six hours and one epidural later, Pidge's daughter is finally in her arms.

"A girl, huh? You called it right off the bat, and she looks just like you, Pidgey," Matt chokes through tears. He's right, though. She looks nothing like her ex, and for that, Pidge is thankful. It's not that the guy was ugly or anything. She doesn't want any reminders of him. Not a trace. But even if her baby looked even slightly like him, it wouldn't change how much Pidge loves her already, which is overwhelming. No words could possible describe how much she loves her.

"You did it." Colleen squeezes her daughter's shoulder. "You did it. All by yourself."

Pidge laughs a small laugh. "I did, I really did." She slumps back into the hospital-grade pillows, exhausted but still careful not to jostle her daughter too much.

"Does she have a name?" Sam asks.

"Robin."

Robin scrunches up her red wrinkly face, reminding Pidge of a crotchety old woman, which somehow makes Pidge fall in love with her even more. She begins to fuss.

Panicked, Pidge looks to her mom for help. Colleen lifts her hands up. "Nope, you've got to figure out what she wants. But if I had to guess... food."

Pidge passes Robin along to Sam while she adjusts her top, earning an "Eeeeew!" from Matt, who receives a light smack to the back of his head from his mother. Getting Robin to latch on to her nipple takes a couple of tries, but the third time is truly a charm as she finally latches on to drink her fill. As Robin nurses, Pidge hums the tune to "Happy Birthday," the first of many more to come. 

* * *

In a hospital on the other side of the world, Shiro is learning how to live again. Or rather, how to live without an arm. He knows the Air Force has honorably discharged him — what good is a one-armed pilot to them? — and that he'll be able to go back to the States soon enough.

But what is he going to do with his life there? Up until now, he had lived for flying. He loved doing it so much he even gave lessons to cadets and other lower-ranking officers.

"Have you ever considered teaching?" Keith asks him one day over video chat. Keith's his best friend, much to the ire of Shiro's superior officers. It probably doesn't look good for Shiro to fraternize with a dishonorably charged pilot (to be fair, Shiro thinks Keith did the right thing by refusing his commander's commands that recently ended up in a massive scandal), but Keith has been there for him through all of this. The top brass? Not so much. "I wouldn't be as good a pilot as I am if it weren't for your lessons."

"I can't say that I have," Shiro admits. "I'll look into it."

He does, and as it turns out, many schools offer excellent scholarships for veterans like Shiro. It'd be a waste for him not to take advantage of these scholarships and programs. He spends night after night researching until he finds a few programs that fit his budget and interests.

With some help from Keith, Shiro starts the college application process. He checks his email every day, every hour if he's able to, hoping for a digital acceptance letter.

This goes on for months. Shiro's almost forgotten about the applications until one morning, he gets an email from his top choice: _Congratulations, you've been accepted into our School of Education!_ Shiro bursts into happy tears. He's ready to start this new journey to rediscover himself and see what else he's capable of doing.


	3. C is for Cadet

**_cadet_**

_noun,_

_/kə-ˈdet/_

_one in training for a military or naval commission; especially **:** a student in a service academy_

* * *

**May 8, 2023**

Pidge has to give her parents some credit. Even her mom. Maybe even _especially_ her mom.

She absolutely loves her little Robin, but would it kill her to let her mom get some sleep? Better yet, let the neighbors sleep? Pidge feels awful, especially when the landlord has to get involved. "I'm sorry, I'm trying to get her to settle down."

The landlord sighs. "I understand, but if the noise complaints keep up, I may have to take certain action."

_Eviction,_ Pidge translates. _All because of a stupid noise clause in the contract._

It's stressful, this single parenting thing. At least her parents were both involved with her and her brother. Sometimes, on the really difficult days, Pidge considers reaching out to her ex for help, even though given her ex's personality and nature, Pidge is fairly sure it wouldn't be all that different than things are right now.

She'd still be the one feeding Robin, changing her daughter's diapers, and bouncing her on her hip as they circle the apartment late at night or early in the morning or whatever time it is when people should be sleeping instead of pounding at her door demanding her baby's silence. It's just a fact.

Hell, Pidge should consider herself lucky enough to have gotten _some_ child support, not that she needed it. That was more of a ploy on Colleen's part. All about practicality, that woman. There are worse traits to have, though, and it would be nice if that practicality had skipped a generation. Not that it would help a screaming, colicky baby be quiet so they don't get kicked to the curb.

Her family would take them in, Pidge knows. But her pride, the same thing that pushed her away from asking for a single cent from her ex, makes it so damn hard for her to ask for help.

But if calling her mom at 3 a.m. to prevent herself from having to move back in with her parents is what it takes to keep a roof over her and her daughter's heads, then so be it, pride be damned.

Colleen rushes over to help out, and Robin settles down almost immediately in her grandmother's hold. "How did you do that?" Pidge asks, in absolute awe of her mother.

Laughing softly as to not jostle Robin, Colleen simply says, "I just got lucky. And maybe this was her way of letting you know you need a break."

Pidge snorts. "Or she just hates me."

"Don't you dare say that," Colleen replies. "You're really doing an amazing job, sweetheart. I couldn't imagine doing this without your father involved."

Pidge's lips tighten into a thin line. "I'm doing just fine without him."

"Katie, that's not what I'm trying to say here. You're a trooper, doing this on your own, and I am really proud of you. Now why don't you get some sleep?"

She could argue with her mother's logic, but she's too exhausted to bother. God only knows the next time she'll be able to get a full nights rest, let alone half of one. Pidge bites her tongue without much effort and swallows the praise, a rare treat from Colleen Holt. She doesn't hand it out very often, so Pidge savors it. "Thanks, Mom." Her voice cracks. "There's a bottle in the fridge if she needs it."

Before Colleen can say something about the benefits of breastfeeding over bottle-feeding, Pidge slips into her bedroom and indulges in slumber, enjoying it more than she ever has or will.

* * *

**August 27, 2023**

_It's a little weird being one of the only people in your thirties in a college classroom._ Shiro's taken some community college courses in the past, all of which thankfully transferred without any problem. But he's a little rusty with some of the basics of studying, which is why he finds himself in the university library. It's one of the quietest places on campus and it lets him fully focus on the task ahead of him.

Still, it's nice that his classmates don't seem judgmental. Just scared of him if anything.

Okay, fine, that's a little less nice.

Shiro kind of wishes they'd look him in the eye instead of shirk away at the scar on his face or the stump of a right arm. But he gets it. He can't help but do the same thing when he looks in the mirror. 

"Mind if we join you?" A lanky young Latino man Shiro recognizes from one of his classes gestures to the empty seats across from him. "The name's Lance. And you're Shiro, right?"

Shiro nods in the affirmative. "Yup, that's me."

Lance tilts his head toward a hulking figure who smiles shyly. "This is Hunk. He's my roommate."

The heavyset Hunk looks a little old — well, not _that_ old — to be Lance's roommate, but that doesn't bother Shiro. "What he means to say is he likes to spend time in my room. I'm in charge of one of the dorms while I work on my master's. Basically I'm the resident assistant for resident assistants, and _I_ am trying to help him get out and meet other people in his major."

Lance huffs, offended at such a slight.

Hunk drops his voice to a hushed tone, not that it's necessary since they are in the university library's silent study area, and says, "He's a transfer student."

"Go ahead, the seats are open," Shiro whispers.

The three of them set their books out—Shiro and Lance's workbooks are from the same class, and it looks like Shiro's answers are ahead of Lance's, though that doesn't mean they're correct. The hefty book Hunk's studying like his life depends on it is gibberish to Shiro, filled with very specific physics equations. There's also a diagram Shiro recognizes immediately. "Is that an F-16 Fighting Falcon?"

Leaping up from his chair and grinning ear to ear, Hunk exclaims, "Yes! I've been studying aircraft engineering and let me tell you, I have some _great_ ideas for how to improve some of these planes."

The trio are met with glares from other students and one particularly peeved-looking librarian who shoots them a deadly look.

Hunk blushes and lowers his voice again. "How did you know?"

"I used to fly one." Shiro wishes for a moment that he didn't bring it up as Hunk and Lance put two and two together. He doesn't want their pity, their "I'm so sorry that happened" without knowing what happened.

Lance and Hunk exchange quick glances, and Shiro half-expects them to apologize and gather their things to study elsewhere.

"So why teaching?" Lance asks. "Other than the arm."

"Lance," Hunk hisses. "You can't say things like that!" 

"It's okay, Hunk," Shiro replies. "It's not a big deal. Well, not to me, anyways. My arm's gone, it is what it is. Doesn't really bother me. And to answer your question, Lance, there's this old friend of mine — ex-Air Force like me — who I taught how to fly. Keith thought I'd be a good teacher. I liked working with the cadets, too, so I guess I thought I'd go back to school and see how teaching goes."

Hunk leans in. "And what's that been like?"

"Honestly?" Shiro thinks on it for a moment. "It's a lot like being a cadet again. Not really sure where everything's at, who's the best person to talk to for homework help, you know, just being a newbie."

"Well, you've met the right people," Hunk says. "I got my undergrad here and decided to get my master's, so I know all of the best places to study and which professors to avoid and stuff, but that's more if you're in the engineering program. But I know people who know people."

"Hunk's seriously the best at this stuff, let him help you," Lance adds.

It's a generous offer. Too generous. Shiro can't accept that offer for free. But he thinks he has something that would definitely be of use to Hunk. "Tell you what. I have some contacts in the Air Force who are always looking for some improvements to their planes and jets. If you don't mind sharing some of your engineering ideas and plans and talking planes with me, I can probably get you an in there."

Tears well up in Hunk's eyes. "You have no idea what that means to me."

Shiro gives a half-shrug. "Flying was my life. My plane was like a second home to me. I don't have either anymore, but I know there's always a need for good people."

"So I guess we're going to have to celebrate with a party or something," Lance trails off. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Hunk! Come on, this is college. Just because you guys are like twenty-five doesn't mean he can't have some fun! He's one of us now, one of the cadets! One of us! One of us! One of us!"

_Twenty-five, huh?_ Shiro's not going to bother telling Lance he's five years off, and he's also not going to tell Lance to not celebrate. "I'd like that," Shiro says. "But I'd like it even more if we don't get kicked out of the library." He rips two sheets of paper from his notebook and scribbles his name and phone number. "Let me know when you're available this weekend. I'll text you my address. I'll have drinks ready, but if you don't mind bringing food or games or something, that'd be great. Sound okay to you?"

"Okay?" Lance slams his hands down on the desk. "Sounds _great_!"

"I'll bring some food. Not to brag, but I'm a pretty good cook."

"Amazing, Hunk's an amazing cook."

Shiro smiles. "I can't wait to taste it for myself." 

The three of them get back to their studies, more motivated than before, though Shiro's mind wanders elsewhere.

It really is like being a cadet again, but not just in the bad ways. Shiro had long forgotten how much camaraderie matters when you're all in in the same boat. It's all about helping each other grow and become better and stronger in every possible way.

He hopes he can do the same for the young, impressionable minds he'll be teaching two or three years down the road.


	4. D is for Day-by-Day

_**day-by-day  
** _

_adjective_

_  
__\¦dā(ˌ)bī¦dā, -bə¦-\_

 _  
__occurring on each successive day_

* * *

**February 1, 2026**

As the days, months, and years go by, motherhood becomes easier for Pidge. She doesn't want to say she's a natural at it, but all things considered, she's pretty damn close to it. Robin's been weaned, potty trained, gone through so many firsts that Pidge now forgets that there are still more "firsts" outside of the "Baby's First..." book her brother got her as a gift from the hospital gift shop.

Robin is Pidge's entire world, which is why she's struggling with the idea of Robin going to preschool. But there's no doubt in Pidge's mind that her baby girl is ready to fly the nest.

Daycare wasn't exactly needed since Pidge does freelance coding and programming for a living, skills that always seem to be in demand, and with a skillset like hers, she's always in demand, too. Money isn't an issue for her, between her work and child support (it helps that her ex also is a programmer, so there's more than enough for Pidge to pocket for Robin's college fund).

But Robin is, for better or worse, a little sheltered. She's smart as a whip, can recite the alphabet and count to a hundred. It's not the education aspect that she needs. It's the social part of life, a part Pidge hasn't ever really been good at. 

Robin needs to be around other kids her age and other people.

So when Robin turns three, Pidge begrudgingly decides it's time to enroll her for preschool this fall. She won't accept anything but the best for Robin, though. She spends her lunch breaks and any downtime researching the best programs. Turns out she lives in a pretty solid school district with a lot of preschool options. So many options it's overwhelming: a full five-week program with all full days of school, a mix of full and half days, and that's not even getting into the morning vs. afternoon half day debate.

Pidge finds a preschool that blends full days and half days, with the half days being on Monday and Friday, with full days in-between. She'll drop Robin off in the morning and pick her up during her lunch break on those days. She'll get to spend extra time with her daughter on those days, which is the best part to Pidge. It's a little selfish, she knows, to keep Robin to herself, but she won't always be able to spend that kind of time with her.

It's a good option for all parties involved, she decides.

* * *

**May 26, 2026**

During the last couple years of his bachelor's degree, Shiro quickly found that he can't stand working with high schoolers or middle schoolers. Elementary students are only marginally better. But then, he's placed at a preschool.

He didn't expect to love it, but he does. Sure, they aren't quite at the level of Air Force cadets — nowhere near it, in fact — but they're so eager to learn and absorb whatever it is he has to teach them. They aren't afraid of asking questions, even ones that are rude. In a strange way, they've helped Shiro acknowledge what happened to him. They don't avoid asking about his arm. Most of the time, it's the first thing they ask him when they see him. "Why don't you have an arm? An' what happened to your nose?"

"Oh, I lost my arm in an accident, and my face got hurt in the accident, too. Don't worry, it doesn't hurt anymore now."

And that's the end of that. They don't ask for details, they just go back to coloring or singing the song they just played on the stereo.

The parents are always horrified when this exchange happens, but Shiro tells them not to worry about it and that it's okay. "I'd rather they ask me than someone else who isn't... well, where I'm at with things."

It's important to him, that these kids know that people are different and that different is Good. Different is not scary, something to be afraid of. It's something to be celebrated.

"Wouldn't it be boring if every crayon in that box was the same color?" the student teacher asks his students. "And sometimes, you'll open a box of crayons where some are smaller than the others. They've been broken in half, or some of that paper peels off. But they still work well with the other crayons and can work together to make amazing colors! Isn't that cool?"

The kids seem to get it on some level and go back to coloring, and Shiro is proud to watch them politely ask to share different colors, "please" and "thank yous" and all. Not a bad way to end the school year.

Later that day, Shiro's mentor approaches him. In all honesty, Sanda scares the shit out of him. She's strict, no-nonsense, and gets right to the point. She makes him think of one of his commanding officers. The way she holds herself is very military, and frankly, he was very surprised she taught preschoolers in the first place.

So when she walks up to him, Shiro braces himself for a reprimand, a _"We do not discuss diversity in this preschool"_ scolding. What comes out of her mouth is completely different.

"As you may have heard around here, I am retiring. I won't be back next year."

Shiro actually hasn't heard anything like that, but he nods.

"I can't help but notice how you good you are with the children. You make them all feel welcome and safe. And you don't forget the educational aspects of teaching three-year-olds."

"Well, it's more than a daycare," Shiro blurts out. "I think some people think that's what preschool is at this age. A daycare center. But it's not. You're preparing them for being around new people and new experiences, but you have to try to make it fun and accessible while still teaching, and—"

A smile tugs at the corner of Sanda's thin lips. "I know, I know. I just wanted to encourage you to apply for my position. If I may be frank..."

"You may."

"I would be devastated if they didn't hire you." Sanda regards the room for what Shiro now realizes is probably the last time she'll be able to. "I'll put in a good word for you."

And so Shiro applies. He sends his resume and cover letter over to Hunk and Lance and Keith, who must be having a field day, going by all of the flagged items and comments in the documents. Still, Shiro reviews each item and comment with the utmost care, worried that one typo will end his chances at the job.

After a week of reviewing and revising, Shiro sends it in. It lands him the interview, where he feels pretty good about his performance.

More time passes, and finally, _finally_ he knows where he stands, because there's a contract in his email inbox.

They've informed him that if he accepts the job, he will be teaching the three-year-old class in the upcoming fall, and all Shiro can think about is how Sanda's word must hold a lot of weight at the preschool.

For the first time in a long time, Shiro feels _good_. Something just clicks. It feels right, like this whole thing was supposed to happen. He doesn't remember feeling this excited, this happy, when he decided to enlist in the Air Force. The next closest thing to what he's feeling right now was his first time in the cockpit, soaring hundreds, thousands of miles above the ground and seeing how small the world is beneath the wings of a plane.

It does sound silly, to compare that feeling to knowing that in a few months, he'll be teaching three-year-olds the alphabet, colors, and how to count to ten and back, but there just isn't any other way to explain it. It's taken him a long time to get to this point, and Shiro knows — he hopes — it'll be worth it.


	5. E is for Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new preschool teacher meets his student and her mother for the first time.

_**encounter** _

_verb_

_\ə̇nˈkau̇ntə(r), enˈ-\_

_to come upon accidentally or unexpectedly  
_ _to come together by chance_

* * *

**August 6, 2026**

Three weeks before Robin starts school, there's a knock on Pidge's apartment door. Pidge steps over the Duplos Robin was playing with earlier (she's discovered that stepping on Duplos is worse than stepping on Legos, since Duplos are just bigger Lego blocks with sharper edges that are much harder for toddlers to swallow), to avoid upsetting Robin over the farm she built.

She opens the door. There stands a handsome man with a warm smile. "May I help you...?"

"Yes. Is this the Holt residence?"

Pidge nods. "Yes. We're not interested in buying anything. No solicitors."

The man laughs. "Oh, I'm not here to sell anything. I'm here to meet Robin. I'm her preschool teacher this year." He holds out his school ID badge: _Takashi Shirogane._ "I believe you said this time worked according to the Google Form you filled out?"

Oh, _shit_. "I completely forgot that was today. Yes, come in, Mr. Shirogane! And, uh, watch your step. We got a little crazy with the Duplos." She hopes Mr. Shirogane isn't horrified at the state of her apartment. It's not something Pidge typically thinks too much about, but she kind of understands why her mom always got on her about cleaning her room now. Just ten or fifteen years too late.

"That's alright, Mrs. Holt."

Pidge winces at the _missus_ in Mrs. Holt, and Shiro notices her pained expression.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, it's just that, um, I'm not really... It's just, I'd feel better if you just call me Pidge." She doesn't want to have to discuss this with anyone, least of all her daughter's very handsome teacher, so she calls for Robin. "Robin, can you come here?"

 _Pidge and Robin, huh?_ A smile slides over Shiro's face. _That's really cute. Wonder if her dad's Jay._

"Uh-huh!" Robin scuttles over and has no problem avoiding the Duplos. _Little kids, man, they're magic like that,_ Pidge thinks with a pang of envy. She has yet to witness her daughter ever experience pain at the expense of sharp snap-together building blocks. Not that she wishes that on Robin. "Whoszis, Mommy? An' where's his arm?"

 _Oh, shit._ Pidge hadn't even noticed the missing arm. Is that something she should scold Robin for? Pidge doesn't want to dampen Robin's curiosity, so maybe she should pretend she didn't hear her ask that. Yeah, that'll work. At least Robin's first question is easy to answer. "This is your preschool teacher, Mr. Shirogane."

The second one, not so much. Mr. Shirogane doesn't seem upset about it. He's just standing in the living room, still smiling. If Robin's question had bothered him, there isn't a hint anywhere that suggests that's the case.

"Since my name's hard to say, you can just call me Shiro," he says. "And I lost it in an accident."

Robin furrows her brow. "Mommy, whyssa teacher here? Don' they live at schools?"

"Not exactly," Pidge explains. Using her shirt, Pidge wipes at some leftover snack that's managed to sneak its way into the corner of Robin's mouth. "You know how Mommy works from home?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, not everyone works from home. Some people work in offices and then come back home for dinner and sleep. And Mr. Shiroga— I mean, Shiro, works at a school."

"But _why_ is he here?"

"You know, I don't really know," Pidge says. "Why don't you ask him?" 

Shiro smiles as he observes their exchange. Robin is very curious and it warms his heart to see a parent encourage that curiosity. "Well, Robin," Shiro takes a second to join her on the floor, displaying the utmost care to not knock any of the Duplos over, "I'm here because it's my first time teaching and I'm a little nervous. A lot of kids like you are nervous, too, so I thought I'd make everyone feel better by getting to know everyone better. It's easier to go to school when you already have one friend you know."

Robin nods sagely at this, as if a three-year-old (or three-and-a-half, as she's constantly correcting everyone she meets) has the wisdom to understand exactly what Shiro's talking about. She reaches out to the set she's built and grabs what looks like some sort of plastic horse. 

"Do you like horses, Robin?"

She chews her lower lip, thinking over this very important question. "I think so. I've never met one. I just like this one 'cuz he came with the Duplos. And he _loves_ playing on the farm!"

"In case you couldn't tell by all of the Duplos around here, she loves building with them. A future architect in the making," Pidge jokes. "But seriously, you should've seen the tower she built yesterday."

"Mommy had to help me 'cuz it's taller'n me!"

 _It couldn't have been that tall,_ Shiro thinks. Pidge can't be taller than five feet. "Really?! Wow, that's incredible! You know, I like to build things, too, and so do some other kids in your class. We have a pretty big collection of building blocks and Duplos."

Robin gasps, absolutely delighted at this grand news. "D'you hear that, Mommy! He has lotsa blocks and Duplos!"

Pidge chuckles. "I heard that. Sounds like you'll be having a really good time when school starts!"

"Speaking of school," Shiro's voice takes on a more serious tone as he addresses Pidge, "I noticed that part of the emergency contact form is blank? If you wouldn't mind getting your partner to sign and put down their contact information, that'd be great."

The color drains from Pidge's face. "He's not in the picture."

Oh. _Oh._ That explains her reaction when he called her Mrs. Holt. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bring anything up."

"No, no, it's okay, it really is." Pidge rubs the side of her arm as if it's sore. _A sore spot._ "It's just us, has been before she was born."

Shiro has a million questions for her ( _Is he dead? Did he die in some traumatic accident? Illness?_ _Or is he alive? Does he have custody? Does he pay child support? Are you safe?_ ), none of which would be appropriate for this visit. Or at all, probably. "I should've been more aware. It's not like there aren't other single parents." He leaves out that so far pretty much all of the parents of his students are together, though there are a handful of blended families, families with same-sex parents, and even one with a transgender dad. But not a single mom with a kid, surprisingly. "You can put down the name of a friend or a relative, too. We'll use that contact if you're ever running late to make sure that someone can be there if for some reason you can't pick up."

"O-okay. I'm sure I'll come up with someone."

"That's great. Just try to get it in as soon as you can." He flashes a smile that instantly puts Pidge at ease, the kind of smile that makes your stomach drop to the floor while brimming with kindness. Like gravity, it pulls people in.

It's the same kind of smile her ex had, and it's a little unsettling.

But she's stronger now, more resilient. And dating, it's not Pidge's thing. She doesn't need anyone else. It's been her and Robin, Robin and her, and they're doing just fine on their own. Even if Pidge did decide to start dating again, well, her daughter's preschool teacher would be someone off-limits. _Not that I **want** to date him,_ she reasons. _He's just a handsome face who's good with kids._

Pidge forces herself to return Shiro's smile, though it's a little more strained. "Alright, I will." There's a tug on her sleeve, and Pidge glances down to Robin.

"Mommy, I wanna play more wi'Shiro and you!"

"I'd like that very much." Pidge looks back to Shiro and continues, "But only if Shiro has time. He probably needs to visit other friends like you."

"You're actually the last ones for today, so I can stick around a little bit longer. That okay?"

Pidge hesitates — she'd expected him to leave. But she _did_ just offer to spend more time with Robin and Shiro... "Yeah, that's okay. So what are we playing today, Robin?"

Robin leaps for joy, practically bouncing on her heels. "Duplo farm!" she exclaims. She takes both adults by the hand and pulls them over to her farm once more. "Farm _house_ ," Robin corrects the adults in the room. Robin takes a pair of her Duplo figures and shoves each one into Shiro and Pidge's hands. "Mommy's the daddy," she declares. "N'Shiro's the mommy."

Kids do a lot of embarrassing things, but this... this is a whole new level. It's not the fact that Robin stuck with heteronormative gender roles or that she's assigned Pidge's character to be the traditional male parent figure or Shiro to be the "other half" or whatever. It's that Robin set her and Shiro up as a couple. A pretend couple, but still.

What should she do in this situation? Run away and lock herself in the bathroom? Apologize on behalf of her daughter who hasn't done anything wrong? She looks to Shiro for some guidance, he's a teacher, he'd know what to do, right?

Shiro's ears are a bright red, but he coughs to clear his throat and says, "That's okay with me, but only if that's okay with your mommy — your _real_ mommy." He looks to Pidge and mouths, _Don't sweat it._

"No, no, it's fine," Pidge says. "So why'd you make me the daddy, Robin?"

Robin peers up at her mother and frowns. "'Cuz it's make-pretend, silly! You're my mommy for real, 'n cuz Shiro's a boy, he gets t'be the mommy. So you getta be Papa Pidge!"

Of course, it's all make-believe. A game. Not some sort of fantasy Robin has about getting her mom back into dating or trying to set her up with some guy. She's only three for fuck's sake, she's not engineering a grand detailed plan to get her back together with her ex, which reminds Pidge that it may be a good idea to never show Robin _The Parent Trap._ There's no long-lost twin here, just a shitty ex who doesn't matter and isn't part of their lives, and they're doing just fine without anyone else.

As they play in the roles Robin assigned them, Pidge allows herself only a second to fantasize, just a little bit, about what it would be like to have someone like Shiro in her and Robin's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you're enjoying this fic, please consider leaving a comment. They mean the world to me and I could really use the encouragement. Thanks! <3


	6. F is for First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a week late, guys! I decided to take the week of Thanksgiving off and try to write a few chapters ahead. Mission kind of accomplished.

_**first  
** _

_adjective  
_

_/ˈfərst/_

_preceding all others in time, order, or importance_

* * *

**August 26, 2026**

Change has always been difficult for Pidge. A change in her schedule, a last-minute change for a client, a change in her plans... she's never handled these things well — with the exception of her daughter, of course.

Pidge adapts, always has, despite how much she can't stand change. She's a creature of habit. One little change can set everything off like dominos, tumbling and crashing down one right after the other.

The first day of preschool, then, is going to be difficult. Not so much for Robin, whose independent streak, so much like her mother's, comes to surface as she tells Pidge, "I'll be okay!"

Pidge manages a wobbly smile. "I know." Her hand fumbles a bit with Robin's car seat buckle. She tries not to think about how it wasn't all that long ago when she brought Robin home from the hospital in a very different car seat, much smaller than this one, and how she could carry Robin around with ease.

She can still carry Robin, but it's definitely not as easy as it was then, when she was a wrinkly little baby.

 _I'm being ridiculous,_ Pidge thinks. _She's going to preschool, not college!_ Still, that thought isn't enough to make her worries go away. Sure, the school knows about Robin's food allergy (strawberries, of all things — not peanuts, thank god, or else Pidge would never be able to have peanut butter again), but what if they don't follow the directions? What if she chokes and CPR isn't enough to keep Robin breathing?

Robin slips her hand into her mother's. "Ew, sweaty!"

Pidge laughs a little, taking comfort in the distraction from her own mind. "Sorry, kiddo, but you know I have sweaty hands!"

"Pidge, is that you?"

She looks up and stiffens at the source. Oh, god, it's Allura Altea. They attended college together and were roommates. Pidge doesn't quite remember much beyond that, like Allura's major or where she ended up. Allura wasn't exactly someone Pidge had intended on staying in touch with over the years. They were very different people; Allura was crisp and clean while Pidge was... well, not that.

"Oh my god, it is you, isn't it! I almost didn't recognize my brilliant college roommate!" A young black woman wearing a gorgeous pastel-pink dress, her hair drawn back into a silver bun, beams a perfectly white smile at Pidge.

"Y-yeah, it's me," Pidge says. "What brings you here, Allura?"

"I teach preschool, pre-K to be exact," Allura replies. She eases herself down to meet Robin, who's hiding behind her mom's legs. "Is this your cousin? A niece?"

Pidge swallows hard. "Actually, Robin's my daughter." She braces herself for the responses she usually gets from people she hasn't seen in forever: " _You're joking, right?" "The Pidge I knew would have never had kids!" "Seriously? You don't seem to be the maternal type."_ _"Wasn't much of a dating type, either, if I recall. Wonder how the kid happened."_

"Hallo, Robin," Allura says. Her English (is it even English?) accent is so soothing and her voice and eyes are kind, Pidge forgets why she was even worried about Allura in the first place. "It is an absolute pleasure to meet you." Allura dusts her dress off as she stands back up at her full height, so much taller than Pidge. "She will be very welcome here, I promise you that. Who's her teacher?"

"Mr. Shirogane."

"Oh, he is an absolute delight!" the pre-K teacher exclaims. "He just started and he is so very good at it. Your little Robin is in the best of care."

Pidge can't help but smile. She had a feeling that was true based on her first impression with the man, but it's good to hear her old roommate-turned-pre-K teacher confirm it. "That's great to hear." 

Robin tugs on her mother's arm in an attempt to drag her into the the school. (It doesn't work.) "Mommy, lessgo!" she grunts. 

"One moment, Robin," Pidge says as sternly as she can to her daughter before she turns her attention back to Allura. "Thank you very much. She's my first and I'm a bit of a mess."

"Oh, darling, you are far from the only one. First days are difficult for everyone, even us teachers. But we'll get through it together. Shall I direct you to Mr. Shirogane's classroom?"

Pidge glances down to Robin, who's getting more impatient by the minute. "That would be great, actually."

* * *

Shiro has worked long hours to get his classroom in order. The most difficult part for him was choosing a theme. Allura, the pre-K teacher a couple doors down, has a stunning jungle safari theme, complete with lions and tigers and bears, but mostly lions. The lady _really_ loves lions.

After a week of thinking on it, Shiro decided to go with a space-themed room. It's easy enough to find star and planet items that are appropriate for a classroom of three-year-olds. He bought silver tinsel from the Christmas clearance section, which are now hanging from the ceiling in their shimming splendor. There are posters circling the room that aren't quite space-themed. To be fair, it's not easy to find themed alphabet posters of any sort.

Shiro had punched out stars from construction paper, wrote each child's name on a star, and laminated them and cut them out of the plastic film sheets. Even though Shiro knows the kids can't read, he knows the importance of having a space of their own, and it was easy enough to make sure each one of his students has a cubby to store their things in.

"And that one says—"

"Robin! R-O-B-I-N!"

Well, apparently _most_ three-year-olds can't read, let alone spell. Robin Holt appears to be ahead of her age group already. "Looks like you two are the first ones here," Shiro says. "And I remember you, you're Robin." He quickly looks to his student's mother and winks. "And how could I forget Papa Pidge?"

Pidge makes some sort of strangled sound in the back of her throat. "About that. I'm so sorry, and I never really got the opportunity to apologize for that. That was really inappropriate and I should have told Robin no."

Shiro waves it off. "It's really okay, Pidge. Robin was just playing a game. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. And for what it's worth, I had fun getting to meet you two."

"She's a good kid," Pidge says. "And I'm trying my best, so I just didn't want you to think I was encouraging some sort of weird thing because I'm a single mom."

"I think you're a very good mom," Shiro blurts out. He has to pause for a moment, try to figure out where the hell that came from. "I mean, she's clearly very bright. And she can spell her name, which is impressive for a three-year-old."

Pidge half-smiles. "Yeah, that, uh, kinda runs in the family. We were all kind of advanced for our age. Early in just about everything. Except showing up on time, though. Don't expect us to be the first ones here. Today was a fluke."

Shiro laughs. "Well, just be sure to show up on time for drop-off and pick-up, and we'll be set."

"Won't be an issue," Pidge replies firmly. And it won't be, not with her working from home. Worst case scenario that she would never, ever let happen, is getting sidetracked while programming for a client. But that's what alarms are for, and Pidge always has at least one prepared to go off of her phone at almost any given moment during the workday. It's usually a reminder to check in on Robin with the secondary purpose of making herself take a break. Plus, she did just set up a series of new alarms to correspond to preschool pick-up times. She clears her throat. "So do I have to stick around and wait for the other parents to show up or...?"

"That's up to you," Shiro says. "I think it's pretty normal for first-time preschool parents to hang around a little bit longer on the first day. Helps with nerves and stuff."

Pidge wipes her hand on her pants, hoping Shiro doesn't notice just how anxious she is. She laughs — a nervous habit. "Yeah, nerves." Eager to change the subject, she says, "This place looks really great. You do all this?"

"Yup. Went out and got the supplies myself and put it all together myself. Took a few weekends to do it, but I hope it paid off."

"Wow. I don't know how good this is because I don't have an artistic bone in my body, but I'd say your efforts definitely paid off." Pidge smiles softly, but even a gentle smile like this one is enough to reveal cute dimples.

Shiro shakes off the thought. It's his first time having a classroom of his own, and he can't even begin to fathom what dating the parent of one of his students would do to the school's reputation or his job. Pretty sure he'd be out of it in no time. Worse yet, how would that affect his students? No, no, no, this is not an option, though there's a part of him that wants to double-check the handbook on teacher-parent relationships. "Well, uh, I appreciate that."

"Mr. Shirogane?" Someone who Pidge assumes is another parent peeks their head through the door. "Are we allowed to come in yet or...?"

He looks like he's trying to reboot his brain, like something stopped circuiting in it for a couple of minutes. "O-oh, yes, yes, please come in." Shiro strides to the door to his classroom and opens it, revealing a line of parents and their kids, who all look some degree of jittery and anxious. Impressively enough, no one is crying ( _yet_ , he tells himself).

Pidge looks on as Shiro greets each parent and his new students, no differently than he'd greeted her. _Which_ _is completely appropriate,_ she reminds herself. Shiro had taken the initiative to introduce himself to all of his students and their families, so it stands to reason that of course he didn't treat her any differently. _So_ w _hy do I even care?_

She doesn't know the answer, or more accurately, she won't allow herself to acknowledge the answer. She's _done_ dating, she has to focus on her and Robin, and dating her preschool teacher is so out of line and inappropriate, it's just a crush, no it's not even a crush, it's just... whatever it is.

"Mommy, can I go now?"

Robin's question snaps Pidge out of her thoughts. "Yes, yes, of course you can. Are you ready?"

"Yeah!" Robin beams at her mother, a wide dimpled grin running from ear to ear. "Are you ready?!"

Pidge takes a deep breath. She lowers herself to Robin's eye level, and draws her daughter into a tight hug. To think, this is the first time Pidge won't have her baby girl with her in three years. Robin's growing up so fast, and Pidge knows her little Robin is ready, possibly more ready than the others here. Blinking back tears, Pidge manages to say, "I'm ready."

It's a lie, and not the first one her daughter has heard. But it's one Pidge has to tell not only Robin but herself until she can truly be ready. Pidge plants a kiss atop Robin's head and whispers into her thick unruly hair, "I love you to the moon and back."

"Me too." With that, Robin scuttles over to the building blocks areas and introduces herself to a classmate who's planted himself there. Pidge watches them chatter for a few seconds, then silently leaves the building to go home, where she can drown herself in work and try to distract herself from how much she already misses Robin and the occasional but very intrusive thought about Shiro.


	7. G is for Grateful

_**grateful**_

_adjective_

_\ˈgrāt-fəl\_

_appreciative of benefits received **:** willing or anxious to acknowledge and repay or give thanks for benefits_

* * *

**August 26, 2026, 11:55 p.m.  
**

Once the kids are all settled in for the day, it's fairly smooth sailing. Shiro spends the first several minutes of class reintroducing himself to his students and vice versa. He's got a pretty good-sized class of twenty three-year-olds, and he's relieved to have an assistant teacher. Coran apparently worked with Allura last year and though he's fond of the pre-K kids, he felt ready to move on to help teach a slightly younger group.

The kids love him and his wacky (English? Australian?) accent, though he's had to be a bit firm with the children who want to tug on his ginger mustache today. "Nuh-uh-uh," Coran _tsks_ at the latest mustache-puller. "You wouldn't like it if I pulled you hair, now would ya?" 

The student—Ryan, was it?—clutches his dreadlocks protectively.

"Now, now, I am not going to pull your hair, but you mustn't pull other people's hair, you understand?"

Ryan nods, clearly understanding the boundaries Coran set.

"Very good. Now let's go to the moon rug with your new friends, shall we? It's shaped like a circle."

Coran really doesn't have to tell the kids what the shape of the moon rug is considering it's the only rug in the room, and yes, it's designed to look like the moon. The rest of the kids are sitting around its edges, fidgeting and teasing the fabric with their chubby little fingers. Shiro sits in a chair, but he leans down, almost but not quite at eye level with his students.

"I am so happy everyone came to school today," Shiro begins. "But I am a little sad that today is about to end. How do you feel about it?"

Robin raises her hand. Without waiting for Shiro to call on her, she blurts out, "Happy _and_ sad."

"Oh?" Shiro arches a brow and makes a mental note that he'll have to work on that with Robin; she does have a tendency to shout the answers without being asked. It's good she's so bright, though, and he'll find a way to communicate that to her without dampening her enthusiasm. "Why do you feel that way, Robin?"

Her dark brown brows furrow, meeting in the center of her forehead. "Hmmm... I'm sad cuz I had fun but happy cuz I get to see my mommy soon." She gives a curt little nod. "Yeah."

"That makes sense. Thank you for sharing that with us. How does everyone else feel?" Shiro regrets asking that because all twenty kids start answering all at the same time. "Whoa there, let's raise a hand, like this—" Shiro shows them how it's properly done—"and then I'll call on you, starting when I say go." He pauses for three seconds. "Go!"

At least fifteen hands shoot up in the air with five bouncing up and down despite being stationed on the carpet. He points to one, a boy whose parents call him Antonio, though if Shiro recalls correctly, Antonio prefers to be called Tony. "Yes, Tony?"

"Feel like Ru... Rob... Bob... Rubbish."

"My name is _Robin_!" Robin shouts. "S'not rubbish, stupid!" Her fists are clenched at her sides, white-knuckled.

"Hey, now, Robin," Shiro says ever so calmly. "No one here is stupid. We are all learning names and about each other. It's only the first day and he will get it." He looks to all the other students. "We are _all_ going to learn each other's names. It will take time, so let's take a deep breath. Breathe in while I count to three, and then blow it out when I count for three again." He shows them how it's done first, which earns him a few giggles when he puffs out his cheeks. "Okay, now it's your turn." Shiro counts, and it's hard not to laugh a little bit at the kiddos who are also trying not to laugh as they watch their peers' cheeks round with air, looking like a hamster with food stuffed in its cheek pouches.

Coran applauds the youngsters. "Very good, very good! Most excellent, yes." He looks at his wrist and taps what Coran has convinced the kiddos is his invisible wristwatch. Of course, there's no such thing so he's just tapping his bare wrist, but it certainly does get the students paying attention. And who doesn't want to believe in a teacher having an invisible watch?! "And my, will you look at the time? It looks like your mummies and daddies have arrived to take you home!" He saunters off to go open the door, where the parents stream in to greet their beloved kids.

Some of the parents are carrying even younger children on slings or against their hip, and Shiro can't help but be in awe of those parents. A three-year-old and a three-month-old are a lot to handle, but they seem to be doing just fine. There are a few older siblings present as well, whose junior high and high schools haven't started up yet.

Within a span of ten minutes or so, just about everyone's gone home.

Everyone except for Robin, who's peering out the window on her tiptoes anxiously awaiting her mother's return. "She's gonna get me," she says. "Mommy'd never go'way."

Shiro looks to Coran for some sort of guidance, but Coran merely shrugs. "Let's give her mum a tick. It's only ten minutes past pick-up time, and some parents do run late."

"Well, Pidge did say that we shouldn't expect her to be an early bird." Still, this doesn't feel right to Shiro. It's not because Pidge is a single mom, though that _does_ make things a whole lot more intense if something had happened to her. From the few interactions he's had with her, Shiro knows that Robin is Pidge's entire world. Hell, Pidge would've probably shown up before all of the other parents.

"Maybe there's been a traffic jam?" Coran suggests. "It is the lunch hour, after all."

"Which reminds me," Shiro says, "We do have some leftover snacks. Would you like one, Robin?"

"Yeah! 'm hungry!"

Today's snacks were granny smith apple slices with peanut butter (no one in Shiro's class has a peanut allergy, miraculously), and there are three left over. Shiro had packed a lunch for himself since he'd have to come in and clean and fill out paperwork, so he takes it upon himself to offer Robin what would have been his leftover snack. She's a growing kid who needs sustenance, and it's always possible to do worse than the apples and peanut butter snack combination.

"Did you have fun today, Robin?"

She answers with a full mouth: "Yesh!" Bits and pieces of apple spittle fly out of her mouth. Manners, she needs to work on her manners. Shiro makes a mental note to have a manners week. After seeing how boisterous this class is, it certainly couldn't do them any harm. Only good, really. "Blocksh were'sh besht!"

"Oh yeah, I saw you playing with the blocks this morning. Do you want to play with them while we wait for your mom?"

Thankfully she replies after swallowing her most recent mouthful of apple. "Wanna build a castle. No, a ship. NO! A castleship!"

"Whoa, that sounds like a lot of work. Can Coran and I help?"

She thinks on it for a moment, brows knit and furrowed, then nods.

"Then it's settled!" Coran exclaims. "We are going to built the finest castleship the world has ever seen! Why, I am sure it will put my grandfather's architectural creations to shame, this castleship of yours, Miss Robin!" He takes Robin's hand and escorts the little one over to the blocks. "Shiro, are you going to join us?"

"Yeah, just give me a second. I'm going to try to contact her mother." He leafs through the school directory and stops at the letter H. There are a couple of Holts listed, and thankfully whoever designed this directory had the sense to include the students' names, just below their parents' names and contact information.

Listed above Robin Holt is _Holt, Katie._ It's a nice name, very different than Pidge. But if she prefers Pidge, then Pidge it is. He picks up his cell phone, enters the digits, and presses the green call button, hoping she'll pick up.

* * *

 **August 26, 2026, 1** **:00 p.m.**

Pidge is in the middle of a Zoom meeting with one of her best clients when her cell phone goes off. Ryner, head of the Olkarion Company, frowns at the interruption, confused.

Ryner is a stern—sometimes outright fierce—but kind woman in her late fifties or early sixties. Sure, Pidge is not familiar with the corporate environment and doesn't particularly care to navigate it, but she knows it's a cut-throat world, _especially_ for women. Being a freelancer who's been beaten out by less experienced male programmers and web developers for some incredible opportunities has taught her that.

Pidge initially assumed upon her first encounter with Ryner that she'd be working with a frigid, technologically incompetent old bitch. But beneath that tough leather-like exterior, Pidge found someone she really appreciates and respects. Hell, of all her clients, Ryner had been by far the most supportive when Pidge announced her pregnancy and had to cut back on her hours.

Pidge stops for a brief moment to double-check for any other information, but no, it's just an unknown number, so she hangs up without answering. "Sorry about the interruption," Pidge says. "Must be a spam caller."

"It's alright. Now, what's going on with the website so far?"

"Well, I—" Her phone goes off again, same number and everything. And there's a voicemail in her inbox now, too? "Jeez, this is the most desperate spam caller I've ever seen." She hangs up again.

"Are you certain it's a spam caller?"

"I mean, who else would be calling me at this time of the day?" The phone rings one more time, and Pidge is poised to hang up, but this time, it's a number she (and her phone) recognizes: Robin's preschool. " _Shit!_ Ryner, I am so sorry, I need to take this one, it's the preschool."

"I can wait," Ryner says, "and I don't know if the preschool or your child can. We can resume this meeting another time."

Pidge mouths a _thank you_ just as she closes out of the application and picks up the phone.

"Hi, this is Shiro, Robin's preschool teacher. Thank goodness you finally picked up, especially because I still don't have an emergency contact for her."

Pidge winces; she'd completely forgotten about that. "Is everything alright? Robin didn't cause any trouble, did she?"

"No, no, she didn't, she was great today. It's just that class is over—"

Over? Class is over already? No, no, no, that can't be right. Was there an accident? A fire? A shooting? Why the hell didn't the school call her immediately? _Get a grip,_ Pidge tells herself. _Things might be just fine._ "That's kind of early for Wednesdays."

There's a brief lull on the other end. "Oh, I guess you forgot the first day of preschool here is a half day. Pick-up starts at noon on half days."

Pidge squints at the digital time display on her computer: _2:15 p.m._ Oh, shit. She hadn't forgotten. She didn't even _know_. Probably missed the memo in her stuffed email inbox. "I'll be right there, let me just reach out to my clients so they don't think I've ghosted them, I am so sorry. I promise I'm not usually like this, and I swear it will not happen again."

"Hey, hey, hey, take your time, alright?" Shiro says. He sounds so calm and collected. "Robin is doing just fine, and the last thing we want is for you to rush over and find yourself in a car accident. There is no rush. I'm not going anywhere until she goes home."

Her throat goes tight, and for a moment, Pidge almost starts crying. But she takes a deep breath to holds herself together. She can't let herself fall apart, not over something as little this even though it's really not little, it's a pretty big deal. "Thank you." It comes out wobbly, through tightened, strained vocal cords.

"Promise me you won't rush over here?"

"Can't make promises I can't keep," Pidge says flatly. "I can't keep Robin waiting much longer, that's not fair to you or to her."

"Just be careful," Shiro replies.

"Okay." She hangs up the phone and scrabbles to pull her things together. Before she runs out the door and into her car, Pidge rips a piece of paper out from the printer, accidentally tearing it, and scribbles down her brother's name and phone number. Funny how she initially couldn't decide between Matt and her father as an emergency contact (because god only knows what Colleen would do if she picked up the call, especially if it were today's), but now when it feels like everything's on the line, Matt is somehow the obvious choice. _Go figure._

She shoves the note into her purse, something she never thought she'd use until she had a kid, and makes a mad dash to her apartment door, zips down the stairs — no elevator today, it's an emergency, after all — and barely manages to catch her breath when she's made it to the car.

* * *

 **August 26, 2026,** **1:15 p.m.**

At some point between eating Shiro's brown-bagged lunch and getting halfway through building the castleship, Robin decided to build the tallest tower of blocks. It towers dangerously high but it shows no sign of falling over anytime soon. It's gotten to the point, in fact, where Robin can no longer reach the top, so she's been relying on adult assistance; namely Coran letting her ride piggyback over his shoulders and reach as far as she can to place the next block.

"More blocks!" Robin shouts.

"Another one already?!" Shiro says, stifling a laugh at the sight of her and Coran.

"More, more, more!"

Shiro grabs yet another block out from the tub and hands it to Robin. "Okay, you got this?"

"Uh-huh!" It's just as Robin places the next block that Pidge bursts through the door, shoulders heaving from each breath. "Mommy!"

"Robin, I'm so sorry I'm late!" Pidge barely manages between pants. She kneels down at Robin's level. "I'm so, so sorry."

Coran assists Robin off from his shoulders so she can run up and give her mother a hug. "'s okay, Mommy, I had fun!"

Judging by Robin's big grin, Pidge takes it she's telling the truth. Still, doesn't make her feel any better about fucking up this badly. And on the first day of school, for fuck's sake. Pidge squeezes Robin tightly, maybe a little too tight, like somehow that'll release all of her tension and guilt over fucking _forgetting_ to pick up her daughter at the right time. "I'm glad to hear that, sweetheart. I'm really glad." Pidge sniffs and wipes at her face, just in case there are tears, because she's feeling pretty choked up right now. Her knuckles come back dry — a welcome relief.

Robin, however, keeps babbling on and on about her day, and Pidge just lets her go. _She gets that from me, alright._

"Glad to see you made it back safely."

Pidge looks up to Shiro, who's easily towering over her and Robin. "Thank you for getting a hold of me. I'm so sorry, I promise this won't happen again, I swear—"

He holds up a hand. _Stop._ "It's okay, really. It's not like I had any big plans today or anything."

"I don't know how I can make it up to you—"

"—and I ate Shiro's lunch," Robin finishes.

Pidge pauses. She's not sure why she didn't pay attention to anything else Robin had been rambling about, but for some reason, that's what she picks up. "Is that true?" Pidge asks. "You gave her your lunch?"

Shiro gives a half-shrug. "Yeah, I couldn't just let her go hungry."

"Let's get lunch," Pidge blurts out. The words just came out of her mouth, without a single thought or moment of hesitation. She can't take them back now. "It'll be my treat, I insist. I just... I don't know how else I can make this up to you."

Before Shiro can bring himself to consider any of the implications of accepting lunch from a single mother, _specifically_ the single mother of one of his students, he accepts her offer. "Sure. When are you thinking?"

"Does right now work?"

"Give me ten minutes to finish some paperwork, and I'll be ready. That work?"

She nods. "That'll work. Does that Chinese place on Main Street sound okay?" Oh, no, wait, there's multiple Chinese restaurants on that street. "The one called Shishi Wok? With the lion dog statues in the front?"

Pidge has good taste; Shishi Wok happens to be Shiro's favorite Chinese takeout place, too. He wonders if he's ever encountered her there without realizing it. It's possible, certainly; it's a small world, after all. "Sounds much better than what I'd packed, honestly," he says. "I'll meet you there."

Pidge exits the room with Robin in tow, leaving Shiro and a Coran who's grinning way too much for Shiro's comfort. "You know, Shiro, I can handle the cleaning today. You go out and have fun on your little date."

"It's not a date." Shiro eyes Coran warily. He's worked with Coran long enough to know he's being genuine and that there _probably_ isn't anything in it for him. But still. That smile... it's unnerving. Doesn't help he's tugging at the ends of his mustache. "She just felt bad about the situation, that's all." _That is all... right?_


	8. H is for Heated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates! I wanted to take a break over the holidays and got a little off-schedule. That may happen from time to time, so just warning you there.
> 
> With the events of the 6th in the US, I thought maybe this is something a few of you guys could use right now. I know I did!

_**Heated  
** adjective  
/ˈhē-təd/  
marked by anger or passion_

* * *

**August 26, 2026,** **2:00 p.m.**

Well, this was not how Pidge planned on spending her afternoon, but she _did_ offer to get Shiro lunch. She owes him, big time, and this was the first thing that popped into her mind, so she's going with it. Not her most calculated move, but definitely not one of her worst ideas ever, either.

Robin pats a lion dog statue on the way into Shishi Wok. "Good doggy."

Pidge hopes that's not culturally insensitive or anything, but right now, she's too hungry to worry about it too much. Guess it helps having Robin at home. At least then she has someone who can remind her to eat and get up and pull something together for the both of them. Lately, dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets have been their go-to lunch and dinners, right up next to Kraft mac and cheese. Robin's a little particular about her food, and Pidge has been trying to get her to eat more fruits and veggies. Apples are good, especially when dipped in peanut butter. Recently she's managed to get Robin absolutely obsessed with yet another peanut butter combo snack that involves celery and raisins, too. Ants on a log, isn't that what her mom called them?

Okay, yeah, she's hungry, alright, the fact she's basically planning next week's meals is a good sign. Or not good sign that she hasn't eaten lunch yet. Perspective, right?

"Mommy, I wanna... uh... orange chicken! N'rice! The white one."

Pidge looks at her child incredulously, considering asking Robin if she's _still_ hungry after eating her teacher's entire lunch. But to be fair, she doesn't know exactly _when_ Robin ate, and it's likely been a couple of hours by now regardless. Besides, it'll make for easy leftovers anyways. Just nuke it in the microwave, and boom, it's a meal. That, and Robin's growing like a weed. She needs to eat, and if she's hungry, that's her body's way of telling her she needs more food. "Good choice," Pidge says. "But we need to wait for Shiro first."

Robin huffs, irritated with her mother's decision.

"Why don't you find a place for us to sit?" One of the best things about Shishi Wok, if you asked Pidge, is the place's flexibility. It's more of a takeout place than a sit-down-and-eat place, but it still offers some seating options. They're a little limited, but Pidge doesn't mind. Once Shiro arrives, they'll go up to the counter and order, Pidge will pay, they'll sit down to eat, and that'll be that.

The task Pidge gave Robin makes the kid's face brighten almost immediately. "Okay!" She toddles around the joint until she finds a table for two near a window. "Over here!" Robin flags her mother down with a wave. "Mommy, I'm over here!" She's already found her seat, too, Pidge realizes when she goes to inspect the seating arrangement. _Table's clean, that's good, they'll bring drinks and silverware out to us..._

Pidge looks to see Robin's clambered into one of the chairs and is waving

"That's perfect," Pidge says encouragingly. "Let me grab one more chair. Can't have our guest standing around all day, now can we?" _Like he pretty much has been already thanks to my stupidity._ She shoves the thought away.

Robin shakes her head.

Pidge smiles warmly. "Okay, can you wait right here while I grab a chair for Shiro?"

"But Mommy—"

"Robin, I am not going to leave you alone. I will be a few seconds. I won't even be leaving the restaurant, okay?"

"Fine." Robin folds her arms and glares at her mother, who shrugs it off, or at least does physically. _If Robin's this sassy now, I don't even want to start thinking about her as a teenager,_ Pidge thinks. _Fuck, I'm too young to be thinking like that. I sound like **my** mother now. _

"Thank you," Pidge says. It comes out like a sigh of relief. She picks herself up and goes in search of another chair. It's a brief journey, and on the way back she almost bumps into Shiro.

Or at least, that's how she'd like to remember it. _Almost_ bumping into Shiro. Not actually — literally, not even figuratively in any sense, bumping into Shiro, as she's dragging a chair to the spot Robin selected.

When she does bump into him, her first realization is that he is all muscle beneath that his button-up, which appears to be stained with paints or puke or something. Preschooler stuff, whatever it is. The second realization is that she feels excruciatingly overdressed in her jeans and T-shirt and sneakers. Ironic when the guy's wearing a nice button-up shirt and slacks with what might be leather loafers? And the third and final realization is that she has to remind herself, yet again, that this is not a date. Just two adults getting lunch as a... professional courtesy.

"You alright there, Pidge?" Shiro asks. 

Of course, of fucking course he asks her if she's alright, not like she's the one who bumped into him. "Y-yeah, I'm good. I should be asking you that question."

"Mommy!" Robin hollers. "Did you get the chair yet?"

God, Pidge is _really_ glad this place is dead right now. It isn't exactly lunch hour or the dinner rush, so it makes sense. "Yes, I did! Just a minute!" It takes everything she has to not scrub her hand down her face when Robin groans something about it being _seconds_ last time.

Shiro arches a brow. "She's sitting by herself?"

"It's temporary," Pidge snaps, then remembers that Shiro's a mandatory reporter. If he thinks she's abusing or neglecting Robin, legally, Shiro has to report it. "I was moving a chair over to our table. She's not been sitting there all by herself, she's been supervised the entire time."

Shiro nods slowly, as if assessing the situation. "Gotcha, gotcha. So, have you ordered yet?"

"No," Pidge replies. "Robin wants orange chicken and rice. I know it's a Chinese place, but they make killer pad thai, so I'll be getting that. And you?"

"Is broccoli beef okay?"

"Don't know why you're asking me if it's okay," she says through a laugh. "I'm the one who offered to make it up to you for lunch. If that's what you want, then I'll get that. It comes with rice — steamed or fried?"

"Steamed."

"Got it. Would you mind sitting with Robin while I order? You know, so she's _not_ sitting by herself?" The words come out more bitter than she intended, but it's too late, they're out in the world now and Shiro's ears, assuming they're fully functional, have already picked up what she said and maybe (but hopefully not) her tone.

"Of course. And I'll take that chair over there for you."

"Works for me."

As Pidge goes to order everyone's food, Shiro seats himself across from Robin. He gives her a little wave. "Hey Robin, how's it going? Long time no see!"

Robin doesn't wave back. She peers up from the Chinese zodiac placemat to study him. Her eyes are just like her mom's. To be honest, most of her features are just like her mom's. Like the knitted brows creasing her forehead. "It hasn't been a long time."

He laughs. "You're right, it hasn't been a long time. It's a joke."

"'s not funny." Robin goes back to reviewing the placemat. "Mommy says Imma bunny, and she's a rat."

Shiro looks down at his own placemat. "I'm a dog, apparently. Here it says—"

"They're loyal and cur...crageous?"

 _So she can read!_ "Yes, that's right, it says people born in the year of the dog are _courageous_. That means they're brave."

"What's loyal mean?" Robin asks.

"Loyal... is a word that describes someone who'll never leave your side."

"Like my mommy?"

Shiro nods. "Exactly. Like your mommy. So, Robin, what does it say about rats?"

Robin squints at the placemat and tries to fight her way through the word _ambitious._ It's a tricky one, but Shiro encourages her and helps her through it. "Am...bishush. And clever. I know what clever means!"

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Smart! I wish I was a rat, like Mommy. Bunnies aren't clever. They're boring."

"That's not true." Pidge sets down everyone's food at the table. "Rabbits have to be very smart to avoid getting eaten by bigger animals. There's no rabbit in what we're eating!"

Shiro grins. "Exactly. But there definitely is chicken and cow on our table right now." He taps his temple. "Not the most clever animals now, are they?"

Robin shakes her head, giggling.

"So, what'd I miss while I was getting our orders?"

"Shiro'n I were talkin' about the special animals on the table!"

"Oh, the Zodiac animals." Pidge looks to Shiro. "What's yours?"

"I was born in the Year of the Dog."

"Hear that, Robin?" Pidge nudges her daughter, who's already digging into her orange chicken. "He was born in the same year as Uncle Matt. Which reminds me..." Pidge rifles through her bag — a well-used backpack by the looks of it — and digs up the sticky note she'd written Matt's contact info on earlier. "Here's the emergency contact. So sorry I didn't get that to you sooner. I just get so busy with work that sometimes I lose track of time," she says, quickly adding: " _Not_ that it happens too often."

"Mommy sets alarms on her phone'n I tell her when lunch is!" Robin proudly announces.

Pidge winces at Robin's proclamation — that's probably not something her teacher would want to hear. But still, it's not as if Pidge is starving Robin. She gets three square meals a day and a snack or two between lunch and dinner. Nothing out of the ordinary, maybe except for today's second lunch. But that couldn't be helped.

"You've got a really smart kid," Shiro says instead, much to Pidge's relief. "She's already reading and seems really advanced for her age."

"Yeah, you should've seen me and my brother as kids. Holts are just... I don't know, I don't wanna say 'born geniuses,' but I was already repeating ridiculously long and complex chemical compound names that my dad taught me at ten months. Robin here just picked up a book and... I don't know, she just taught herself to read, I guess." Pidge shrugs. "Another Holt thing."

Wow, if even half of what she's saying is true, that's incredible. He doesn't doubt her, though, as crazy as the whole thing sounds. After all, Robin does read pretty well, better than some of the first graders Shiro worked with while in college. "Have you considered testing her to see if she should go up a grade?"

Pidge shifts uncomfortably in her chair. She knows her kid's bright, but she just wants to give Robin some semblance of normalcy. Given that Pidge herself skipped a grade and ended up taking all the advanced and AP science and mathematics courses before her same-age peers were able to wasn't a bad thing. Not intellectually, at least. But socially? It wasn't great in that regard. "I have," she admits, "But I want her to be with kids closer to her age. Easier to make friends that way, or so I've read."

Shiro nods. "Completely understandable." He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket and shakes it for loose change. "This was easier with two arms," he jokes. A few quarters fall out, and Shiro pushes them across the table to Robin. "Why don't you get a toy from one of those dispensers over there?" He tilts his head toward the entrance, where there are three toy capsule vending machines that had to have been strategically placed for young children to pester their parents after they'd paid for the meal.

Robin looks to her mom. "It's fine, Robin, go ahead. But don't forget to tell Shiro 'thank you.'"

"Thank you, Shiro!" Grabbing the coins with a chubby fist, Robin runs on over to the machines.

"I appreciate that," Pidge says. "But you know, she doesn't need anything like that. We've plenty of toys at home."

"I know," Shiro replies. "But I wanted to talk with you — just you — for a second about today. It sounds like you've got your hands full between your job and Robin, and then now there's preschool on top of it all, and I just wanted to say that if you need help, it's okay to ask for it. And if something happens like today, I don't mind waiting around longer for you to pick her up."

Help? She needs help? Pidge feels her face burn and tighten at the suggestion.

"I do _not_ need your help," she snaps. "I have been on my own with my daughter for three years, and we have been doing perfectly fine. Just because I made the simple mistake of thinking that the first day of school is a full day because it falls on a Wednesday, which would normally be a full day of preschool, instead of a half day, does not mean that I am overwhelmed or that I need help. I am not a charity case." Pidge shoves her and Robin's leftovers into takeout boxes, slamming the lids tight. She gathers up her keys and phone and throws them into her bag.

"Pidge, I—"

"We'll see you tomorrow on Thursday, which is a _full day_."

Shiro can't tell if she's phrasing that as a question he's meant to answer, but judging by her glare, he decides to say nothing except a quiet "I'll see you two then."

Pidge huffs, storms over to Robin, grabs her daughter's hand, and together, they leave the restaurant, slamming the door behind them.


	9. I is for Irritated

_**irritated** _

_adjective_

_/ˈir-ə-ˌtā-təd/  
_

_subjected to irritation_

* * *

**September 17, 2026**

It hasn't even been a full month of teaching preschool yet, and Shiro is already starting to feel a little worn out. The honeymoon phase ended quickly, as the fun introduction games in the morning faded away once the kids got to know their names and one another better. A few kids are starting to act out more now that they're feeling more at home in his classroom, a boundary Shiro's trying his best to teach them — and himself, admittedly.

Though he rarely has many conversations with parents during drop-off and pick-up times, he can't get Pidge out of his mind. But she seems very ready to make sure he isn't in hers. She picks up Robin right on time every single day. Not even a minute late, as if she has to show him up or prove a point.

_Where did I go wrong?_ Shiro thinks, pressing a pint glass of Guinness to his lips. It's Allura's birthday today, so the teachers all insisted they go out after work. Shiro spies Lance, who's the new first grade teacher, talking it up with the birthday girl herself. Shiro's seen Lance at his worst in college, and he knows Lance isn't going to take advantage of anyone, but Shiro observes him carefully. _He should know better than to hit on his coworker,_ he thinks.

Much to Shiro's surprise, Allura flirts right back. Shiro eyes his drink suspiciously. _Must be the booze._ He shakes his head and smiles as he watches Lance drag her off to dance.

"Ah, love. A beautiful thing, innit?" Coran slips into the seat across from Shiro. "Still, that Lance had best behave himself around my Allura," he sniffs. "Lest there be hell to pay."

Shiro chuckles. Coran's very protective of Allura, having worked closely with her over the years. "I think I'd be more worried about Allura behaving herself around him." As if on cue, Allura dumps her drink over Lance's head. "But he probably had that one coming."

Coran hums in agreement. "I believe you are right once again, Shiro. Give them some time, those two. Bet they'll be copulating like rabbits in a few years."

The Guinness doesn't go down so smoothly this time, burning Shiro's throat as he chokes it down. "Easy there, Shiro." A soggy Lance thumps Shiro on the back a few times. When Shiro isn't choking on his drink from laughter or awkwardness or both of those feelings, he manages to say, "Thought you had to be certified in First Aid to be a teacher."

"I am!" Lance protests. "You just so happened to respond when I asked if you needed help! And that's, like, step one of the Heimlich. Ask the person if they're okay."

"I'm fine. And are you okay?" Shiro gestures to Lance's ruined outfit.

"My ego's a little bruised," Lance admits, "but other than that, I'm all in one piece. She hasn't broken my heart yet."

"And speaking of broken hearts..." Coran's eyes glint in a way that Shiro does not like. "I think Mister Shirogane may be suffering from one as well, if I had to guess."

Lance, always prepared to pounce on any sort of hot gossip, gives Coran the opportunity to spill the tea. "Oh, _really?_ Do tell, Shiro."

Shiro rolls his eyes. "There's no one special in my life."

Wounded, Lance clutches his hand against his chest. "Not even me? Or Hunk? Or dare I even mention your dear, dear Keith?"

"Now that's just unfair."

"Oh, no," Coran says. "It's none of them — no offense to any of your friends, Shiro."

"Plenty taken," Lance quips.

"Duly noted." Shiro takes another sip of Guinness and makes it a quick one. It's best to be prepared when drinking around Coran, regardless of a glass's contents, or he really will end up needing Lance to perform a subpar Heimlich.

"I can't help but notice you've been acting like a kicked little puppy whenever Miss Katie Holt waltzes in and out during drop-off and pick-up."

"It's not that big of a deal," Shiro says. And it's not. She's a single mom trying to balance work and raising a three-year-old. That's more than enough reason for her to not speak to him, though he _knows_ deep down her reasons are more than that.

Coran scoffs. "Please, you took her offer to go out for lunch without a moment's hesitation."

"And why did you never tell me, your bestest friend ever, about this?" Now Lance is the one looking like a kicked puppy, all sad eyes and wobbly pout, though Shiro decides to attribute that to the fact his crush dumped her cocktail on him just a few minutes ago.

Shiro scrubs his face with a hand. "Because you'd never leave me alone and we'd have this exact conversation and talk about nothing else. And besides, she probably hates my guts because I told her that if she needed extra help to let me know." Judging by Lance's vacant stare, he doesn't know the entire situation. "Pidge is a single mom, and her kid's one of my students."

"I'm sorry, you told Pidge _what_ now?"

All three men's heads whirl around to see Allura standing in front of them in all her glory — or fury?

"Pardon me for butting in, but I know Pidge quite well. You see, we were roommates back in university, and I can tell you with complete confidence, you really fucked up with her if you said that."

Hearing a preschool teacher swear is terrifying and awe-inspiring, especially when it's one as articulate and creative as Allura. "What makes you say that?"

Allura taps her chin with a perfectly manicured nail. Where to even begin? "Assuming she hasn't changed much since we lived together, which, knowing her, is quite likely, Pidge is fiercely independent." Allura smooths her skirt and takes a seat next to Coran. "I remember when she was stuck with a programming assignment, and I mean stuck. She was babbling to herself about different ways to skirt around the issue. When I suggested she reach out to her professor for assistance, she looked like I'd just slapped her or insulted her.

"And then, she didn't talk me for the rest of the semester. She avoided studying in our room. I only really saw her in the morning, getting ready for classes, or sometimes she'd wake me up coming in from wherever she was studying and doing whatever she was doing. Wouldn't say a word. She'd either act as though I wasn't there or avoid me at all costs."

Memory pulls Shiro away, to the moment when he offered Pidge help. How her face turned red, either from embarrassment or fury, the way she turned on her heel after putting the food away, and the slam of the door behind her. And more recently, how she won't even look him in the eye when she drops Robin off or picks her up.

"Why did you start talking again?"

"We didn't," Allura says. "This happened toward the end of our senior year. I didn't hear from her until the first day of preschool, when she introduced me to Robin. It was like nothing had happened."

Shiro sinks into his seat. Well, so much for Pidge getting over this.

"I get that you were trying to help, Shiro, but think about it. She's been raising a kid by herself for three years. And Robin wasn't in any danger, was she?"

"We're mandatory reporters. If you didn't report anything, you wouldn't be here right now," Lance points out. "So, no, Robin was safe." The fact Lance is in the right here stings. It's not that Lance is a bad person; he wasn't necessarily the brightest of the bunch in college. But he's clearly good at his job, and — to use Lance's own words, the same ones he spoke less than a few seconds ago — if he wasn't, Lance wouldn't be here right now.

"Exactly," Allura says with a nod. "And I think that if I were in her situation, I, too, would feel insulted. As far as she knows, you don't have any kids of your own, save for the twenty you teach at one time. I imagine that would cause her a great deal of doubt in her own abilities, to be offered help by someone who works with more kids than she does on a daily basis." 

"Maybe." Shiro screws up his face in thought. "She did tell me she wasn't a charity case."

Lance whistles. "Damn, she really put you in your place."

"And rightfully so," Allura adds, "assuming you didn't offer any parents who are couples extra help." Shiro's crestfallen expression confirms this. "Lance is right. Pidge really did put you in your place. You owe her an apology at the very least."

"Yeah, I do." 

But how exactly can he apologize to someone who's avoiding him?

* * *

**September 28, 2026**

"Mommy, look what Shiro helped us make!"

Pidge winces at the mention of her daughter's teacher. It's ridiculous, really, how one name can get under one's skin. And unfortunately, Robin, being the chatterbox she is, has nothing but good things to say about the guy.

_He's a good preschool teacher,_ Pidge tells herself. _So stop getting so worked up over the last time you spoke with him._ It's easier said than done, of course. Shiro'd hit Pidge right where it hurt. She's doing everything she can, and she thought she was doing this thing so well. But now, hearing someone other than her mother nag her for not doing something right (just one _fucking_ time, too!) stings. Especially when that person is in charge of caring for her daughter and several other three-year-olds five days a week.

From what Robin has to say about Shiro (and _fuck_ is there a lot), he cares a lot about these kids. He does a solid job of keeping them both educated and entertained. It's impressive, she'll give him that. Keeping a class of twenty three-year-olds and all of their parents happy is no easy feat. Plus she's pretty sure he has to keep track of allergies and shit like that, too. 

So yeah, it really sucks to hear that from someone who spends his whole day with an entire class of Robins, that she looks like she needs help. 

A kick from the seat behind hers jolts Pidge. "Robin, I am driving right now. Can Mommy look when we get home?"

There's a sigh from the backseat. "Fine."

Pidge can practically hear Robin jut her lower lip into a pout, if such a thing was possible. "Sorry, sweetie, I need to keep my eyes on the road. We want to get home safely."

"I know." Another sigh.

Jeez, Robin's only three and she's at least ten years ahead of herself by pulling this broody teenager act. "Did you have fun today?"

"Uh-huh."

That's... very unlike Robin, to respond with something that's less than three words. "So I can't see what you made while I'm driving, but do you want to tell me about your day? Tell me about what you made?"

"What me 'n'Shiro made."

Of course, _and_ Shiro. Now it's Pidge's turn to sigh. "What did you _and Shiro_ make?" The emphasis on _and Shiro_ comes out harsher than she intended it to, but Robin doesn't pay that any mind as she launches into a story of sorts, one about her and her new favorite person in the entire world, and how they used the brittle, bright-colored fall leaves to make a pattern for a painting. Pidge listens as intently as she can, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.

Soon enough, they're home, and Pidge feels a little bit relieved. She can have a drink, cool down, relax for a little bit before dinner. Maybe she'll even have time to take a nice, long hot bath. Now _that_ sounds like a way to spend an evening.

But it's not realistic, not when a three-year-old who insists on playtime and telling her more about Shiro, Shiro, Shiro. Christ, is her kid making any new friends other than her teacher? "Hey, Robin, what happened to your friend you build towers with? Miles, right?"

Robin wrinkles her nose. "Miles doesn't wanna play blocks anymore. 'Sides, he's gross 'cuz he doesn't wash his hands w'soap."

A more than fair reason to not want to play with Miles. "That _is_ gross," Pidge agrees. "I wouldn't want to play with someone who doesn't wash their hands with soap, either." Her brain goes into panicked mother overdrive mode for a moment, questioning if the preschool cleans the toys every day of class. She's no germaphobe, but the idea of Robin getting sick because some asshole of a kid like Miles doesn't wash his hands properly and touches everything is terrifying. Kids get sick, yes, but is the school taking the proper precautions and preventative measures? Should she email Shiro about Miles the walking germ-spreader?

There he is again, fucking Shiro. Can't even have a single moment in her head without thinking of the guy or hearing his name or having to check emails from him to make sure she doesn't miss any reminders about whose turn it is to bring snacks...

"I can't keep doing this," Pidge mumbles. "Or I'm going to go crazy."

Avoiding him isn't an option, no matter how hard she tries to minimize her contact with him. And if she's being a little honest with herself, she kind of misses the conversations they did have, however few they were.

But he pities her, thinks she isn't a good enough parent to Robin, to offer his "help" to her. It's insulting, frankly, and if Shiro wasn't teaching twenty or so impressionable young minds, she'd give him a few choice words in front of the class, who'd probably start parroting her very colorful insults (somehow Robin's first word wasn't "shit" or "fuck," and Pidge isn't sure if she's impressed or disappointed that Robin never quite seemed to pick up either of those words, even now).

But why even give him that, when it would probably only prove what he already believed about her?

And why does she even care this much? If anyone else had offered her help with being a parent or whatever the fuck Shiro was trying to get at, she'd be mad but she wouldn't let it bother her this much. Is it because he's Robin's teacher and is in control of her grades. Yeah, it's not A's and B's, but Shiro does have the final say as to whether or not Robin needs to repeat another year of school. But Shiro _did_ say Robin was very advanced for her age and suggested having her skip a year... That's beside the point, though.

Pidge pinches the bridge of her nose and inhales deeply. _I don't know why I'm letting this jerk get under my skin. I was able to break things off with Robin's father so easily. Why let some other stupid man do this? Would this bother me if, say, Allura said what he did?_

After reflecting on that for a moment, Pidge decides that she'd be livid, too, so sex isn't an issue here. Hell, if _Matt_ said it, she'd be pissed, too. _Let's not even get started on my mother._ She sighs. This is exhausting, trying to figure out why she's like this.

"Starting to think a bath and a glass of wine might be a good idea after all," Pidge mutters to no one in particular. She looks to Robin. "I'm going to take a bath real quick. Think you can handle things around here?"

"But I'm hungry."

Oh, right. Robin could probably use an after-school snack just about now. Pidge heads to the kitchen in search of a decent snack that'll keep Robin occupied long enough for Pidge to have at least five minutes in the tub without interruption. "We have some of those cheese and cracker snack packs you like. Sound good?"

Robin nods.

"Alright, we'll go with those then." Before she grabs the snacks for Robin, Pidge steps on the sturdy step stool to reach into her cabinet where she keeps glasses, though she doesn't truly own any glasses. Just a bunch of plastic cups from kids menus at restaurants and a few matching ones she'd purchased second-hand at garage sales and the like. She picks one out, that just so happens to have the exact same logo as the cup she keeps in the bathroom for rinsing the shampoo out of Robin's hair. _I know I have a bottle of some red wine around here somewhere._

Pidge peels the seals off of two rectangular plastic packages and hands them to her daughter. "Bon appetite."

"Bone app the teeth," Robin echoes.

Pidge almost corrects Robin, but eh, she's almost got it. And Pidge is too tired to practice proper pronunciations with Robin tonight. Besides, she's _three._ She shouldn't be saying everything perfectly. It'd be creepy if she did. That, and "bone app the teeth" is pretty funny, actually. Better than the actual phrase, if you ask Pidge.

Robin clambers into her seat at the kitchen table, which is littered with papers and a few McDonald's toys Robin was playing with the other day. Some sort of transforming robot toys, from the looks of them.

Now that Robin's satiated for the time being, Pidge turns her attention back to filling her empty glass that's not made of glass. She has to tip-toe on the step stool to reach her liquor cabinet. A cloud of dust escapes when she opens the door, causing Pidge to sneeze. _Does wine have an expiration date?_ she thinks, wiping her nose with her sleeve. _Guess we'll find out._ Just as Pidge grabs the bottle of wine, she feels her phone vibrate in her back pocket.

It startles her into almost dropping the bottle. By some miracle, it doesn't slip out from her grasp. "That was a close one." She slowly eases herself off of the step stool and places the bottle gently on the kitchen counter, with a soft _clink_. She digs her phone out of her pocket, and reviews the lock screen:

_To: Katie Holt (+40 others)_

_From: Takashi Shirogane_

Pidge groans but forces herself to read onward. Given that there are 40 other people CC'd on this thing, it's probably important.

_Subject: October Snack Schedule_

_Hi friends,_

_October is really **creeping** up_ _on us this year! I guess it's fitting since Halloween's this month._

(Pidge snorts. Okay, that was a little funny, she'll give him that much. But no more. A little cute, too. Nope, nope nope, that's giving Shiro too much credit.)

_So that's why I'm sending out this month's snack schedule! If there are any problems with it or if I need to change the date, please email me and I will be more than happy to make accommodations for you._

_October 1: Katie Holt..._

"Shit," Pidge hisses. "Did he _really_ just put me down for the first day of October? With only two days' notice? What an assho—" She cuts herself short, remembering that Robin _is_ in the next room over. "Jerk!" _You know what? Fine. I'm going to make the best fucking snacks and blow the socks off of that prick. That'll show him!_

But before she does that, Pidge fills her wine glass and heads to the bathroom, ready for the best goddamn bath she's had in months.


	10. J is for Judgment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would update on Fridays, but things change, hence the change in the description (i.e., removing the "updates on Fridays"). Don't think I haven't forgotten about this AU! I definitely have not and I have an outline, which is better than... quite a few things I've attempted to write.
> 
> Anyways, happy Friday, everyone. Stay safe and healthy, and get vaccinated if you can!

_**judgment** _

_noun_

_/ˈjəj-mənt/  
_

_an opinion so pronounced_

* * *

**September 30, 2026**

Pidge's kitchen bustles with a flurry of activities and visitors. Namely, her parents and brother, because it turns out that coming up with a snack for twenty preschoolers is a lot of work, and preparing the snacks is even more work, especially when your daughter ate the last boxes of raisins without you knowing.

"I've got the raisins you asked for. And extra peanut butter, of course, because what are we, animals?" Matt plops a grocery bag filled with the aforementioned goods on the kitchen counter, which appears to have been only recently wiped down. 

"Thanks so much, Matt." Pidge crushes her older brother in a hug. "I really needed some help."

"And it looks like you've got plenty of it." Matt tilts his head toward the kitchen, where Sam and Colleen are stationed, chopping up celery like mad. "You're putting in an awful lot of effort into Robin's class snack. Couldn't you just, oh, I dunno, buy a pack of prepackaged food or something? Fruit snacks, those are still a thing, right?"

Pidge shrugs. "I just wanted to do something more with it. Besides, none of the other parents have done that when it's been their turn. I'm the only one who has, and, well, I guess I wanted to prove that I'm not helpless. That I can handle this kind of stuff."

"Okay, Pidge, for real, who are you trying to impress? I _know_ you aren't the type to give two shits about what other people think of you. Who's the new beau?"

"Come on, Matt, you know me. I'm not seeing anyone." _Not since Robin's father._

Matt folds his arms over his chest and tsks. "More like you're _refusing_ to even try to see anyone. Have you considered getting back out there?"

"Why should I? After my ex left us, what reason do I have to let anyone else into my life? Besides, I can't just focus on _my_ wants and needs. I have to consider Robin's best interests, too. I don't want to have someone enter her life and then leave when they get tired of me or freak out because I have a kid or find someone better. That's not fair to her. She needs stability, and I'm doing my best to give it to her."

Matt sighs. Pidge has always been stubborn, but he can't help but think that his sister is only hurting herself with that attitude. He never did like her ex-boyfriend and knew Pidge could do better and certainly deserved better. And she still does. "For real, though, you've _never_ asked us to come over and help you with anything. Ever. Something's going on."

Pidge glances toward the kitchen. Her mother seems plenty occupied in some deep conversation with Sam. This is the prime opportunity if there's ever going to be one. "Fine," she huffs. "Robin's teacher insulted me and I want to prove him wrong."

"That doesn't tell me anything. What'd he say?"

Pidge glances toward the kitchen. Her mother seems plenty occupied in some deep conversation with Sam. This is the prime opportunity if there's ever going to be one. "I, uh, screwed up on the first day of school because I left Robin there longer than she was meant to be there. I felt bad, so I offered to get Shiro lunch because he gave his to Robin, and then he said that if I need help to let him know so he could make accommodations, whatever the fuck that would be."

"Holy shit, you took him out to lunch. _You,_ who's been living like a Catholic nun since your ex left, took your kid's preschool teacher out on a date."

Pidge balls her hands into fists. "It wasn't like that," she growls. "And you're missing the point. The guy treated me like I'm some penniless Victorian-era prostitute who got knocked up and now he wants to tend to my every need before I die from consumption or an STD they couldn't treat or just from reading a fucking book. I'm a mom who's doing a pretty damn good job of raising her kid on her own for the last three years and just had one major fuck-up on the first day of school. He _insulted_ me, Matt."

"And now, you're trying to impress him." Matt shoots his sister a shit-eating grin.

"Yes! Well, no, not like that. Stop looking at me like that!" Pidge scowls. "I am not having this conversation with you right now."

"So that means we'll talk later. Duly noted." He taps his temple twice. "And I am not going to forget that."

Pidge glares at her brother. "Don't push it."

"What's your brother pushing?" Colleen, having finished chopping up the celery stalks in halves, walks over, curious about her children's conversation.

"Pidge has a crush." Matt dodges his sister's half-playful punch aimed at his shoulder. "And apparently she needs to work on her aim." He sticks his tongue out, a taunt.

Pidge, not for the first time, wonders how the hell her brother ended up being the older of the two of them. By all accounts, it makes no sense to her. Matt could be so childish and sometimes acted so much younger than his little sister did. Maybe having Robin forced her to grow up faster. _That's a big maybe,_ Pidge thinks. Motherhood hadn't changed her _that_ much. Had it? But maybe that childishness is what makes Matt such a fun uncle.

"Matty!" Robin shouts when she sees her uncle.

"There's my favorite niece!"

Robin juts a lower lip. "I'm your only niece."

"Yup, the one and only, which makes my favorite niece pretty dang cool."

Robin beams at her uncle. "Les'go play, Matty!" She tugs on Matt's arm as he looks to Pidge for permission.

Pidge waves them off. "Go, both of you. Have fun." She inhales through her nose. Of course Matt managed to bring Colleen into this conversation. Of fucking course. Pidge arms herself with a knife before stationing herself next to her father and joins him and Colleen in cutting up celery.

"So, you're seeing someone then?" Colleen asks, though it's more of a statement than a question.

Pidge pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. This is not a conversation she wants to have with anyone, especially not her mother. "No. No, I am not. Matt's just being a tease, that's all. Trust me, it's the furthest thing from that."

"Oh." Pidge can't tell if her mother is relieved or disappointed about this. She hopes it's relief, but when it comes to her mother, anything is possible. "Well, if you do decide to start dating, just make sure it's someone who will love Robin as much as you do and will treat her like their own child."

What Pidge wouldn't give to fling herself out the window to avoid this conversation. "I know, Mom, I'm not stupid. And I'm not interested in dating anyone, _especially_ not Robin's preschool teacher."

Sam Holt puts on his best David Attenborough impression — a kind way of saying it's an objectively terrible David Attenborough impression: "Here, we see the wild Pidge in the domestic sphere, a rare sight indeed. A one-in-a-million occurrence and we are lucky enough to have it captured in our memories, like a duck imprinting on the first thing it sees upon hatching. Look, how she chops away at the stalks of celery and painstakingly adds an even coat of peanut butter, only to sprinkle it with a small, meager handful of raisins. A rare courtship ritual that involves impressing the one she cares about."

Pidge rolls her eyes. "God, not you, too, Dad. Come on, I shouldn't be dating Robin's preschool teacher. It's practically a conflict of interest. A violation of... student-teacher privilege. I don't know!"

Sam and Colleen exchange knowing looks, and Pidge hates it. "Listen, sweet pea," Sam says. "We just want you to be happy. And yes, we know you don't need anyone else to be happy. But if there is someone who makes you feel..." he pauses. "A certain way, would it kill you to try?"

Pidge slathers peanut butter on a freshly chopped celery stalk. "He insulted me and my parenting. What's there to try? He judged me for being a single mom who made one minor mistake. A mistake any parent could have made." She feels hot tears of shame well up in her eyes. "And that really, really hurt." Pidge sniffs roughly and rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. "Excuse me, I need to wash my hands and face before I get everything we worked on all gross and snotty. Because god forbid I somehow make the kids sick from these homemade snacks."

Sam stops what he's doing and starts to go after her, but Colleen rests a hand on his shoulder. "Let me talk to her. I owe her this."

Sam nods, understanding. He knows things aren't easy between Pidge and Colleen. They never have been, and they may never be. But he knows when he needs to step back and let Colleen take the wheel, and Colleen's right — this is one of those times. So he relents and goes back to washing and chopping celery, humming a familiar tune.

Colleen knocks on the bathroom door, where she's certain her daughter had retreated. "Katie?" she says.

"It's Pidge." A sigh. "What do you want, Mom?"

"I want to talk. And say... I'm sorry. I know I haven't been the easiest on you, but I just want what's best. I'm sorry this person hurt you, and we took things too far. But..." she takes a deep breath. Colleen knows she may be overstepping here, but it needs to be said. "I think he meant well. Did he go about it in a shitty way? Yes. But from what Robin tells me about Shiro, he's a good man, and I do think you like him, or you wouldn't be going to these lengths. I mean, you called _me_ for help. He matters to you, like it or not. I think... maybe you judged him too harshly."

There's a sniffle from the other side of the door, then a brief lull of silence, which doesn't last long. "Did my mother just say _shit_? Someone call the press, Colleen Holt just swore in front of her own child and possibly her grandchild."

Colleen cracks a smile. "I'm certain she hears worse from you and is smart enough to not repeat it."

"Maybe." Pidge sighs, then changes the subject. "Don't get me wrong, though. Shiro's opinion does matter to me, but it's not... it's not like _that._ "

"And that's fine. I just... I don't want you to feel like you have to stay single. But if you want to, that's okay. Nothing wrong with that. I just want to see you happy, alright? Things haven't been easy, but I am proud of you for the way you handle them. I don't think I could have done what you've done."

"Hence the adoption email," Pidge says bitterly.

"Yes," Colleen admits. "It's... understandable that you're still mad about that. I overstepped then, and we were all doing it in the kitchen just now, too. I'm sorry."

No apology was going to fix the hurt that one email had caused Pidge. Pidge didn't think her mother would ever truly be able to comprehend the pain that had caused her. But Pidge would accept the apology for pushing her too far in the kitchen, though Colleen hadn't done much. That had been mostly on her dad, who went too far every so often. "Okay," Pidge says. A faucet squeaks from behind the door, followed by a small rush of water hitting the sink. The door handle twists back and forth, then the door opens. Pidge exits the bathroom, ready to get back to the kitchen and finish what she and her family had started.

* * *

**October 1, 2026**

Pidge wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. The summer was long gone at this point, replaced with the brisk temperatures that had her bundling up even more than usual. That also meant making sure that Robin was properly outfitted for the cooler weather, and considering how much Robin had been growing this year alone, Pidge thinks there's a very good chance Robin will need a new winter coat. Robin dons her hat, complete with a pom-pom sitting at its peak, her little nose and cheeks red from the colder weather. Pidge wishes she could tell Robin that would only get better as the years go on, but that would be lying and something not worth lying to her daughter about. 

She swears at this point that being a parent is just picking and choosing which battles are and are not worth it. That's the thought that goes through her mind the moment she brings in all of the snacks she (and Matt and her mom and her dad) had worked so hard to make for Robin and her classmates. Was all this fuss worth it? She isn't sure. Not until she sees Shiro's face light up when she and Robin step in through the door. "Wow, that's a lot of..." he trails off, not sure what this is called.

Pidge readily supplies Shiro with the answer. "Ants on a log." He looks surprised when she speaks. It has been a while since he's heard her voice, Pidge supposes. But her _not_ talking to him couldn't have affected Shiro that much. Right? The way he looks at her, she's not so sure. "The ants, um, they're the raisins. I mean, the raisins are supposed to be like ants. The peanut butter makes the celery look like a log." Fuck, she sounds like an idiot right now. Shiro wasn't stupid, he could figure this out. And what if he thinks that she actually put ants, _real_ _ants_ , in the food? That'd be a call straight to CPS, the absolute last thing she needs.

"They look really good, and you put a lot of effort into these. Most of the time parents bring in store-bought snacks. This will be a nice change of pace from all of the Fruit Gushers we keep getting. Not that I'm complaining."

 _He looks like he's never touched an ounce of sugar in his entire life,_ Pidge thinks, noticing how the fabric of his sleeve seems to pull too tightly whenever he moves his arm. _His biceps are probably bigger than my head. How did he get into this line of work again? He looks more like a bodyguard than a preschool teacher. Too much of a softie, probably._ "Glad we could help change things up a bit."

There's an awkward pause for a little bit, until Shiro speaks. "Hey, about what I said the last time we talked. You were right. I was out of line, and it was a really shitty thing of me to say. I promise was trying to help, but that doesn't make how I went about it right. I know you care about Robin, and I care about her, too, so I don't want you to think that I thought any less of you then. I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm sorry."

Pidge stares at Shiro blankly, unsure of how to respond. "I, uh, thank you, I think?" _Fuck, fuck, **fuck**! _That wasn't it, either. "I think..." Pidge swallows, hard. Her pride doesn't go down easy, but she needs to get over it. "I think I misjudged you." She shakes her head. "No, I _did_ misjudge you. It wasn't fair of me to assume you thought the worst of me. It's just, things haven't always been easy for me, you know?"

Shiro nods. He wants to say, _"I know. I can understand."_ The reality is that Shiro _cannot_ understand what Pidge has been through. He doesn't know every little thing she's struggled with. Was her family supportive? What about her ex? He wasn't in the picture anymore, but was there an ugly custody battle or something? A legal battle for child support? But he doesn't know and likely never will know what she went through. He can only imagine her struggles, and even then, that's not right. "No need to apologize," he says. "I was in the wrong. And for what it's worth, you are doing a great job with Robin. She's one of the best and brightest students I've ever had." He lowers his voice. "And don't tell anyone else this, but she's probably one of my favorite students."

"Well, she adores you, if that means anything. She won't stop talking about you at home." She leaves out the fact that Robin's incessant chattering about Shiro has been driving her crazy. It's unnecessary and frankly, she's still a little mad at Shiro, and he doesn't need to know that. But the apology helps. Pidge picks up one of the tupperware containers she'd packed. "Mind showing me where the fridge is?"

"As long as I can take some of these containers off your hands."

Pidge nods. "Lead the way."

Shiro cradles as many containers as his one arm is able to carry — three at once, to be exact — and heads on over to the staff room. It's located between Shiro's and Allura's classrooms and connects the two rooms. There's a small refrigerator, not quite big enough to be your average household fridge, but not small enough to be considered a mini-fridge. "We keep it in here in case the kids get too peckish," he explains. "And it's an easy place for staff to keep their meals fresh during the day." He sets the containers on his desk, then opens the refrigerator. "Ladies first."

Pidge rolls her eyes but stores the containers. They fit perfectly, right next to Shiro's lunch. "Chinese takeout again?" she teases.

He shrugs. "Leftovers. Not from when we went."

"I should hope not," Pidge says with a snort. "Your broccoli beef would definitely be way past its expiration date by now."

Shiro quirks an eyebrow. _She remembered my order?_ _That's... impressive._

Pidge goes on to move the remaining containers into the fridge. When she's done she makes a show of dusting off her hands. "Well, I'd better get going. Duty calls and all." Pidge performs a smart, snappy salute that makes Shiro think back to his days in the Air Force. It doesn't upset him — instead, it makes him chuckle. Those were good times, even with him losing his arm by the end of it. 

"See you at pick-up," he replies. It's not a question and he makes sure it doesn't sound like one. But that's okay. Shiro knows she will be there, right on time.


End file.
